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Monday, May 12, 2008
Designer fraternity
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Saturday, May 3, 2008
What it tastes like
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If you want to know what horse feed tastes like or perhaps shredded cardboard with bits of dried sour apricots mixed in it...Buy this box, if you are lucky you'll find a semi-sweet raisin. Good news is its 98% fat free and currently on sale. Bad news is it was no Delite to eat. You'll have jaws so muscular after just one bowl that even Arnold will be jealous.
We are petitioning the company to change their name from 'Sunreal' to 'Sureal'. Or just to simply omit their product off the market entirely...it really wouldn't be that much of a loss. Eating competition athletes have been banned from eating this because it gives them an unfair advantage, its like steroids for your cheeks.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Sounds of my daily commute
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The glass door slides shut and a key locks it.
My rubber soled sandals squeak on the slate bridge echoing between the glass sides.
The exit security door beeps its release and i use my entire body weight to push it open.
It slams behind me and re-beeps the lock.
The gravel crunches as i cut across the parking lot.
My soles slap on the stairs as i descend below Britomart and the tunnels and the trains beneath.
The train screeches and clicks on the tracks as it pulls up.
The brakes groan as it stops.
Clinking, moaning, grating of the train as the cars pull and resist one another.
The beep beep beep of the door alarm sounds the ok to open.
The clatter and squeak of the temporary footpath scaffolding as all the pieces groan under the weight of the busy crowd heading off in a myriad of directions.
My rubber soled sandals squeak on the slate bridge echoing between the glass sides.
The exit security door beeps its release and i use my entire body weight to push it open.
It slams behind me and re-beeps the lock.
The gravel crunches as i cut across the parking lot.
My soles slap on the stairs as i descend below Britomart and the tunnels and the trains beneath.
The train screeches and clicks on the tracks as it pulls up.
The brakes groan as it stops.
Clinking, moaning, grating of the train as the cars pull and resist one another.
The beep beep beep of the door alarm sounds the ok to open.
The clatter and squeak of the temporary footpath scaffolding as all the pieces groan under the weight of the busy crowd heading off in a myriad of directions.
The espresso machine whirs and steams and i listen for the clink of the ceramic on the wooden table surface as i pass Organic Nutmeg.
The rev of the car engines accelerate up the hill.
The rev of the car engines accelerate up the hill.
The crosswalk chimes the go ahead to go.
The woman with the hula skirt purse and bubblegum pink lipstick's high heels rhythmically click clack on the cement we pass each other.
The miniature button springs squeeze as i push the code to get into the school.
Door hinges noisily protest on rusty hinges.
As i enter, a wave of cries, playful screams, talking, laughing and quietly in the distance, Jack Johnson sings from the cd player in the far corner of the toddler classroom.
The miniature button springs squeeze as i push the code to get into the school.
Door hinges noisily protest on rusty hinges.
As i enter, a wave of cries, playful screams, talking, laughing and quietly in the distance, Jack Johnson sings from the cd player in the far corner of the toddler classroom.
My day has begun.
Yeah, that's right, these little kiwis listen to surfer music...
Bear Park
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We apparently have a sister school in Boulder, CO that we have a teacher exchange program with. One of my co-teachers will be heading up there soon for the rest of the year pending her US work visa. I'm not sure how strict they stick to the 'exchange' aspect since i haven't heard news of them sending one down here but small world anyway, huh?
And now that you probably learned more about the education system of a small school on the under, yet beautiful, side of this planet than you ever wanted to know, over and out.
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